Sweeter than Honey: An Amish Market Novella

By Kelly Irvin

More can be found at the Amish combination store than honey and baked breads.

Shattering a jar of pickled beets wasn’t the impression Isabella hoped to make on her first trip to the local Combination Store of Bee County, Texas. But as embarrassed as she was by the accident, she didn’t think it warranted the frosty reaction from the handsome manager of the store, Will Glick. As she soon learns, though, Will’s heart has been broken one too many times. And now, for some reason, Isabella finds herself determined to be the one to repair that broken heart and renew his faith in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Feb 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9780718023584

Kelly Irvin

Kelly Irvin is a bestselling, award-winning author of over thirty novels and stories. A retired public relations professional, Kelly lives with her husband, Tim, in San Antonio. They have two children, four grandchildren, and two ornery cats. Visit her online at KellyIrvin.com; Instagram: @kelly_irvin; Facebook: @Kelly.Irvin.Author; X: @Kelly_S_Irvin.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The piquant aroma of pickled beets—sharp with vinegar and spices—tickled Isabella Shrock’s nose. She froze, staring in dismay as the purple juice pooled around her sneakers and ran willy-nilly across the dusty wood-plank floor. A spray of droplets decorated her once-pristine apron. She blew out air, her frustration tightening the skin around her eyes and mouth. Her first trip to the Combination Store at the center of her new community in Bee County, Texas, and she’d managed to drop a box filled with jars of vegetables fresh from Abigail’s canning frolic.

Mudder and Abigail had trusted her with this simple task. Isabella sank to her knees. Being a part of their first canning frolic since moving to Bee County had made her feel like she would fit in here. Mudder and the rest of the family would be happy in their new home. Leaving Tennessee to make a fresh start had been a good idea. Now, she stood here with beet juice soaking the hem of her dress. Only one jar had broken. Still, one jar too many.

She tugged the box upright and began to replace the jars of tomatoes, sweet corn, and nopal jam. They needed wiping down. Surely Will Glick, who worked in the store for Bishop Leroy, had an old rag she could use.

Hey, you need some help?

Patting the sweat on her forehead with her dress sleeve, Isabella pivoted to seek out the owner of the high voice with a soft Texas twang floating toward her.

An Englisch girl, dressed in a white V-necked T-shirt and tight blue jeans, strode down the aisle, her pink flip-flops making a smack, smack sound. Head down, long, blond hair hiding her face, she rummaged in a huge, polka-dotted canvas purse, apparently unmindful of how close she veered toward a shelf loaded with jars of honey. I know I have something in here. Oh, here it is. She waved a packet of tissues. Quick, start cleaning it up before sourpuss sees the mess.

Sourpuss? Thank you.

The girl squatted alongside Isabella, her tanned face creased with a wide smile that featured perfectly aligned white teeth. No problem. I don’t want you to get in trouble with the guy who’s running the place today. He’s a piece of work.

Will Glick was a piece of work? Abigail’s daughter Rebekah had introduced them after the church service Sunday and he seemed nice. Not much of a talker, but then neither was Isabella.

I did make a mess.

Accidents happen. Be careful not to cut yourself on the glass. The girl dropped a pile of tissues on top of the juice. They turned pink, then purple, and sank until they covered a pile of beets like a small, wet blanket. I’m Maisie Lantana, by the way. You must be new around here. I thought I’d met all the Amish girls. I’m a friend of Rebekah Lantz’s. She used to run around with us until she got baptized.

Rebekah’s mom and mine were best friends back home. Isabella introduced herself as she dabbed around the jagged pieces of Ball jar, trying to capture the juice, which seemed to race beyond her reach like a cat trying to escape a bath. We’re staying with them until we can do some work on our new house. We’ve been here about two weeks.

Exactly fourteen days in this flat, brown countryside where April felt like July in Tennessee, but who was counting or comparing, for that matter?

Nodding, Maisie snapped and popped her gum in a staccato of tiny explosions. From Tennessee, like the others?

"Carroll County, but we lived in McKenzie. My daed can’t work like he used to do. Rebekah’s family is helping us out."

Bee County District might be small, but they were kind and helpful. The folks had been that way in McKenzie, too, but Mudder said Daed wanted a new start. Which meant a new start for everyone.

Isabella turned at the sound of footsteps so heavy they rattled the jars. Will rounded an end cap that displayed cookbooks and homemade candles. A box filled with jars of honey in his arms, he stomped down the aisle in scarred work boots, his fair features reddened. What happened here?

He towered over them, tension apparent in the way he held his lean, muscled frame. His fierce gaze landed on Maisie and stayed there as if he was certain the Englisch girl was the source of the problem.

I dropped the box. I guess it was too heavy or I tripped over something. Isabella scrambled to her feet. Truth be told, she’d been gawking instead of watching where she was going. The store, with its dusky interior, had the same fascinating mishmash style of merchandise inside as the adjacent junkyard seemed to have outside. A little of this, a little of that. Straw hats, a few quilts, a beautiful handcrafted double rocking chair, farm implements, jars of jam and honey, and produce all laid out on shelves in no apparent order. One of the jars broke.

I see that. Stop messing with it before you cut yourself. Instead of heading off to fetch rags or a bucket of soapy water and a mop, he slid the box of jars onto the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. His cobalt-blue shirt had been washed so many times it had acquired a soft sheen. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.

I’m Isabella Shrock. We met—

At church. I remember.

His gaze seemed locked on Maisie. That didn’t surprise Isabella. Men rarely noticed her. Shy, that’s what her mudder called her. Nothing wrong with that, according to Daed, who said no Plain man wanted a loudmouth, flighty woman for his fraa. Plain men wanted a good woman who knew how to reserve comment and acquiesce after a decent amount of discussion. He claimed she would come into her own, given time.

At eighteen, Isabella had begun to wonder exactly how much time would be required for such a transformation. And how would the young men notice her if she never had the nerve to speak up?

This move to Bee County, this was her new start, her chance to make herself anew. To find a way to be noticed by the person Gott intended to be her mann.

I’d like to help clean up, if you don’t mind. It’s my mess.

It’s my job to take care of the store while Leroy is breaking a horse today, so I reckon you can go on back to Abigail and Mordecai’s. His tone was kind, but something in his blue eyes seemed disapproving. Let Abigail know she’ll be one short on her count.

She’d only just met the man and he’d already seen how doplisch and inept she was. Isabella swallowed against the rush of heat that surged through her. I made the mess, I’d like to clean it up.

Not necessary. Will turned his back and headed toward the front of the store. "You probably have plans with your Englisch friend."

Plans? Friend?

Don’t let him bother you. Maisie stood and wiped her hands on her shorts, apparently unconcerned about the permanent nature of such stains. Her long fingernails had turned purple with beet juice. "He’s had a bee in his bonnet about Englisch folks, as y’all call us, ever since his cousin rode off into the sunset with your friend Rebekah’s sister Leila."

Isabella had heard pieces of that story, but she didn’t know how Will fit in. Or what it had to do with Englischers. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t one to gossip. Especially with a stranger from outside the community. Thank you for your help.

Picking up her skirt to avoid juice now seeping into crevices, Isabella trotted after Will. He strode along as if he had no idea she followed. He ducked around the rocking chair, with its sagging handwritten price tag. She did the same. He wove around a box of horseshoes. She wove. Still, he didn’t look back.

He rounded the corner of a streaked glass counter by the front door, picked up a basket of rags, and set them on the counter next to an old battery-operated calculator, a cardboard sign handwritten with produce prices, and a metal cash box.

If you’ll give me the rags, I’ll finish the job.

It’ll take a bucket of water and a scrub brush. He shook his head without looking up. Even then, the juice will stain. I told you not to worry about it. I’ll clean up your mess.

His tone was soft, but still there seemed to be an emphasis on your.

He was a man,